Staying Hungry

3 Ramadhan 1435

17.50

I don't feel hungry. I don't feel thirsty. Not in the way that I did when I was a kid and I'd be longing for dinner after smelling the chips frying or gagging for a long, cold drink after over-doing it playing five-a-side. Nothing as definitely urgently yearning as that.

Rather, I'm aware of a lack-of-ease about my body, if I allow myself to think about myself in that physical way. I know my head isn't exactly aching, but is mildly painful if I move it about too much. I know I'm finding it somewhat more difficult to swallow than it might normally be. I know I feel empty not of food but of life somehow.

And I also know that the thing to do is to keep going even when you don't feel like going anywhere, because all this will pass.

22.20

And, of course, pass it all did. But the memory remains as evidence of how fundamentally weak I am tied to this irrepressibly demanding body. A small part of the value of the month lies in the glimpses it gives of transcending this weakness. But they remain the briefest of glimpses. Cracks allowing the light in.